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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29854293">No Good Deed</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfail/pseuds/writingfail'>writingfail</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Raya and the Last Dragon (2021)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Extortion, F/F, Gang activity, Martial Arts, Organized Crime, gay mafia, have you seen them???, i dedicate this to Namaari's arms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 23:55:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,313</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29854293</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfail/pseuds/writingfail</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts with a small shrimp shack in the middle of the merchant's alley. When the White Dragons come back to get their weekly "protection" money, they are met with a highly-skilled, mysterious fighter with a bone to pick. As leader of the White Dragons, Namaari should want to get rid of her. </p><p>But the past cannot be so easily erased.</p><p>-</p><p>Raya and the Last Dragon AU in which Namaari is a mobster and Raya is a freedom fighter squatting in a shrimp restaurant owned by a literal child.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Namaari/Raya (Disney)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>146</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>No Good Deed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A couple of notes on the setting before I begin:</p><p>-Kumandra is an island off the coast of the Philippines. Therefore, they use Filipino pesos.<br/>-A "civilian" is a non-gang affiliated person.<br/>-Fair warning: these gangs are more inspired by the Japanese mob than Filipino gangs. Research on Filipino gangs was minimal due to time constraints.</p><p>Please enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Little Boun runs an honest shrimp business. It is something that he tells himself every time the men and women in suits visit his stall in the hours of morning break, when most are only just rolling out of bed to begin their days.</p><p>Boun is overseeing his restaurant, his three hired assistants (two of which are his older brothers, really, but they know to take orders from him), kneading the noodle dough, firing up the grills, and sharpening the knives. That is when they come.</p><p>The group this morning is made up of three women. Girls, really, judging by their slight builds and soft faces. Boun knows better than to underestimate them; they are, after all, associated with one of the most ruthless factions in the area. And the younger ones were more than eager to prove their worth.</p><p>Boun still treats them like any other customer. “Hello, ladies! Lovely weather we’re having. The only thing that’ll make it better is a delicious, melt-in-your-mouth shrimp skewer!”</p><p>Only one of the girls does the talking. It is always this way. The other two stand there, their countenances reeking of danger in their pristine white suits.</p><p>“Cut the shit, kid,” she says. “You remember us, right? You still owe the Fangs a lot of money.”</p><p>Boun’s brothers hesitate in their chores to watch, but Boun casts them a look. They reluctantly return to deveining the shrimp and cutting the onions at their respective stations, though their attention is fragmented.</p><p>“I—” Boun squares his shoulders and puffs his chest in the silent hope that these things will grant him the confidence he needs. “I’ll tell you what I told the others and that’s that I can’t pay what I don’t have.”</p><p>The girl clicks her tongue, reprimanding. “I don’t think you know just who you’re talking to. Or should I have to remind you?”</p><p>Upon second glance, Boun notices they are all carrying some sort of weapon, be it chains, a bat, a switchblade. The girl he speaks to flicks her wrist and the blade whips out, its edge sharp and pointed right at him.</p><p>“I’ll ask you again.” Her gaze is unwavering. “Give us what we’re owed or this business that you worked so hard to build won’t have the protection it needs. It would be a shame if this shack burned down on the day your protection fee was overdue.”</p><p>Boun feels a burst of anger and it’s enough for him to say, “But I can’t afford ten-thousand pesos! People are too scared to come here when people like you—”</p><p>“Watch your tongue, you little shit,” mutters one of the extortionist’s backup girls. The one in front gestures for silence.</p><p>“No, no, let him finish,” says the extortionist. “When people like me what?”</p><p>Boun loses his nerve in that moment. The anger that he found within himself extinguishes and he falls coldly silent. The extortionist eyes him. Then she strikes, her blade sinking into the wood of the counter. The other street vendors pause around them, sensing the impending danger.</p><p>“What he means,” says a third voice from behind Boun, “is that your ugly mugs are scaring his customers away. Bad for business.”</p><p>“Who—?” The extortionist barely ducks out of the way when a butcher’s knife soars past her and sinks into the wood of another vender’s booth with a great “thunk!” Cries of surprise bloom around them.</p><p>Boun’s third assistant, the newest help, slowly rises to her full height from squatting in front of a bucket of shrimp, her bare hands glistening with fish guts. She undoes her apron and throws it aside before stepping forward.</p><p>“What the heck, Raya!” Boun cries, aggrieved. He’s never seen Raya act like this, not even when a drunk berates her for getting his order wrong or for going too slow. She has barely spoken until now, as a matter of fact. “You’ll get us killed, you idiot!”</p><p>His pleas fall on deaf ears when Raya rolls her shoulders and approaches the three gangsters as if she is readying to spar. The girl who attempted to extort Boun is silent, but her fury is apparent.</p><p>“You could have told me you wanted to throw your life away, Boun,” says the extortionist. “Instead of hiring this wannabe badass over here.”</p><p>“I-I don’t know who she is, you hear me?” says Boun. His voice squeaks. “I only hired her a week ago because she said she’d work for free! You have to believe me!”</p><p>“He’s right,” says Raya. She removes her cap to fling that aside as well. “I only wanted to work here to talk to you guys. Well, I only need one of you, so…”</p><p>This one is fast, faster than the knife throw; Raya vaults the counter in one smooth motion and barrels into the woman hard enough to send her flying back. The other two gangsters skitter back, stunned, but only for a moment. The one brandishing the chains cries out and charges, but Raya steps aside and rams a knee into her stomach. She drops to the ground, gagging for air.</p><p>The other with the bat follows close behind, swinging wildly. Raya dances back a little, then aims a sharp jab at her chest, then a hook to the face that sends her sprawling. The last one, the extortionist, is still trying to regain her breath from the kick to the throat, but Raya is impatient; she grabs her by the front of her shirt and shakes her so hard that she goes cross-eyed.</p><p>“You tell your boss,” says Raya, her voice level, “that this is just the beginning.”</p><p>The extortionist blinks rapidly before giving a mute nod. Raya roughly releases her so that she stumbles to the ground, dirtying her ivory suit. She scrambles to her feet and tears off, leaving her fellow gangsters to moan in pain at Raya’s feet.</p><p>An atmosphere of silence falls over the market alley as other merchants look upon the poor fool who decided to antagonize the Fangs. Boun can only stand at his damaged counter, mouth hanging open in pure, unfiltered horror.</p><p>Raya doesn’t seem to pay much mind to the stares. She returns to Boun’s shrimp shack and says, “Hey, boss. Don’t mind the trash. I’ll take care of them.”</p><p>She motions to the two girls on the ground. Boun stares, still unable to conjure any words. Raya doesn’t wait for him to respond as she grabs them by the collars of their shirts and drags them off, as if they are mere bags of garbage.</p><p>Boun runs an honest shrimp business. That is, until his shack became the site of resistance against the Fangs.</p><p>#</p><p>“You’re kidding me.”</p><p>Namaari clears her throat and bows her head slightly to show her regret.</p><p>“You’re telling me,” begins the Chairwoman, “that with all the power and wealth allotted to you as Matriarch of the Fangs, it is impossible for your soldiers to protect themselves? From some kid, no less?”</p><p>Namaari releases the darkest, sourest sigh she can muster from the depths of her chest, slides her hands over the front of her pressed, white suit. After a couple of beats, she says, “I’ve been told she’s…very skilled.”</p><p>“Skilled enough to wipe the floor with your subordinates?” Namaari does not respond. The Chairwoman clicks her tongue and taps the ash off her cigarette into the gold ashtray. “We’re just letting in anyone these days, aren’t we? Damn shame.”</p><p>The Chairwoman brings the cigarette to her lips before releasing a jet of smoke toward Namaari. Unfazed, Namaari stands to attention in front of the Chairwoman’s broad, lacquered desk. Upon the wall behind the Chairwoman, the Dragon Syndicate’s crest of the Dragon Gem, a sparkling blue ornament surrounded by four dragons, gleams in the afternoon light streaming in from the floor-to-ceiling windows.</p><p>Namaari wouldn’t expect anyone, not her subordinates or the Chairwoman herself, to understand what is happening. What started as a couple of extortion rackets being disrupted quickly became one-woman raids on their clubs, interceptions of their arms shipments, and beatings of their foot soldiers. And now she’s made a home for herself in the middle of a rather profitable market alley. All because she has a mean punch and a death wish.</p><p>Namaari, however, knows better.</p><p>“I will personally get to the bottom of this,” says Namaari. “She has been causing a mild disturbance on my turf alone. She won’t be a problem for long.”</p><p>“See that she doesn’t, eh?” says the Chairwoman. “This is the Fang name we’re talking about. I did not make you Matriarch just so you could drag our legacy through the mud.”</p><p>Namaari lowers her gaze to the long, thin fingers of the Chairwoman, the knuckles scarred and the palms calloused. She remembers the impact of those hands, the swiftness and weight of them when they landed a strike. Namaari shuts her eyes.</p><p>“I won’t let you down, Mother.”</p><p>“That is Chairwoman to you.”</p><p>A pause. Namaari opens her eyes again, her vision clear. “Yes, Chairwoman.”</p><p>“And I’ll believe it when I see it.” The Chairwoman takes another puff of her cigarette. The smoke clogs the air between them. “See to it that this parasite disappears for good.”</p><p>“Yes, Chairwoman.”</p><p>The Chairwoman waves her hand to dismiss Namaari. Namaari bows and pivots, on her way to see herself out of the office, when her mother says, “It’s his girl, isn’t it?”</p><p>Namaari didn’t want to broach the subject. Considering what happened six years ago, there was always the threat of retribution hanging over the syndicate, particularly the Fangs.</p><p>Namaari is sure it’s her.</p><p>She says, “She’s not stupid enough to come back here.”</p><p>Another lull in the conversation. Then, “Doesn’t matter. She is a dead woman, either way.”</p><p>“Consider it done.” Namaari does not look back when she walks out the door and shuts it gently behind her.</p><p>#</p><p>It starts with one stall.</p><p>Raya likes to take incremental, small steps. It helps keep things organized. In this case, however, the situation spirals a little out of her control. Mainly because she does not expect so many people to want to join her cause.</p><p>Boun is the first because, well, his was the first place to take free labour without questions. No documents required. He also doesn’t have much of a choice since Raya has informally made his restaurant her headquarters, something he wasn’t a fan of, at first.</p><p>However, he had to choose between having her squat there and eat a ton of his shrimp or owe the Fangs ten thousand pesos. After some painstaking deliberation, he chose the former, but only if she continues to work for free.</p><p>And his restaurant is right where she wants; it sits in the middle of Kumandra’s market alley, where most stalls are under Fang control. It is symbolic. It sends a message.</p><p>And what a message! It echoes from the street and explodes outward, as most rumour mills do when they carry an especially unusual bit of gossip. Where Boun and Raya expects an influx of Fang gangsters to storm the place in retaliation, they get…something else.</p><p>The evening of the following night, Raya is put on cleaning duty, something that she has been frequently assigned since her stunt with the butcher knife (“You think it’s funny, throwing knives?! Try a broom instead!”) Boun’s brothers frantically chop vegetables and cook the shrimp to serve the customers while their little brother takes note of the orders while chatting up customers.</p><p>It is while she is clearing the dishes off the counter that she notices a man sitting at the counter with an empty bowl. Not a grain of rice is left in it. His good eye is trained on her, the other covered by a patch.</p><p>“Thank you for coming, sir,” says Raya as she begins to remove his bowl.</p><p>“You,” he says, his voice as hard as thunder, “are the one they’re talking about, aren’t you?”</p><p>Boun’s brothers, snoopy as they are, pause their chores to stare. Boun does not reprimand them this time because he, too, stands by with bated breath.</p><p>“It depends on what they’re saying about me,” says Raya. She takes back her hand without the bowl. “Are they good things?”</p><p>“It depends on who’s listening,” says the man. He rises from his stool to full height and, well, she never did realize how short is. Or, rather, how big this client is compared to everyone else around him. His head nearly skims the top of the stall.</p><p>It takes Raya everything in her not to take some steps back, but she manages to stand toe to toe with this man so clearly twice her size. Her hands grip her broom tightly and she does a quick once over of her surroundings.</p><p>“This is new,” she says. “Usually, the Fangs come in groups.”</p><p>“You think I’m one of them?”</p><p>Raya inspects him, eyebrow raised.</p><p>After a moment, he startles her with a barrel-chested laugh. “I am not a Fang, girl! I merely heard that a child was able to kick the asses of some Fangs. I wanted to see her for myself and, maybe, even offer a hand if I am impressed by what I see.”</p><p>Certainly not a development she expected, considering the sheer size of him. He looks like he hails from one of the Four Regions of the Dragon Syndicate. Raya has to wonder if this is a setup after all.</p><p>But his story is compelling. She prepares some grilled shrimp skewers for him and they talk at length as the hustle of the afternoon rush tapers into a tepid trickle.</p><p>Most stalls begin to shutter for the night and Raya sits by this man who speaks of the loss of his parents to the Dragon Syndicate. How his father’s business was burnt to the ground due to unpaid loans. How the spiral led to hardships that were all too familiar to many in this city.</p><p>It has been several decades since then. But he holds the burning hot anger close to his heart, enough to make a living of hunting down the gangsters himself.</p><p>“The police of Kumandra are corrupt,” says the man—Tong is his name—and spits on the ground for emphasis. “They get paid to look the other way. It’s up to civilians to look out for themselves.”</p><p>He inspects Raya for a bit before he wipes his fingers on a disposable napkin and adds, “And, sometimes, you have to look into the darkness to destroy it.”</p><p>Raya is quiet.</p><p>“Do you get what I’m saying?” Tong asks.</p><p>It isn’t like he’s subtle. “I do my own dirty work.” Raya gives him a lopsided grin. “But I’ll need someone to look after this alley if ever I need to go on an errand.”</p><p>Tong’s eyes light up with excitement. “I know some good people. They are ready to act. I’ll send them your way.”</p><p>“You would…do that for someone you just met?”</p><p>Tong releases another laugh, this one only half-amused. “The Dragon has been killing and kidnapping our loved ones for so long. I’m doing it for them more than I’m doing it for you.”</p><p>They shake on it, after which Tong makes arrangements for his “contacts” to come down to the alley and watch Boun’s shop. When Raya informs Boun of the decision, he is already preparing to close the stall himself.</p><p>“You make decisions as if you own this place!” He takes one look at Tong, the sheer size of him, then says, suddenly timid, “But of course this handsome gentleman can come and go as he pleases.”</p><p>So, that is settled. Or, Raya thinks it was.</p><p>Tong does good on his promise and spreads word of her brewing “movement”. Many people gravitate to Boun’s stall, each with their own stories of trauma and fear and anger.</p><p>Raya actively listens to each and every one of them. Some are old, others very, very young. They are the children of merchants killed after being extorted into bankruptcy; siblings of people absorbed into human trafficking, never to be seen again; they are the lateral victims of widespread, unchecked violence in Kumandra, reaching out to the final vestiges of hope in a world whose odds are stacked against them.</p><p>Boun openly resents the influx of people, mainly because it affects his sales. However, he and the rest of the merchants on the street have yet to turn out Raya and her growing following of civilians. Perhaps their hesitation comes from being cowed by their sheer number and force, but, deeper down, they sense that the plates have shifted and a new reality is slowly being ushered in. For better or for worse, they allow Raya to bring peace back to their lives. Some even seem to run high on the idea of fighting a gang by themselves.</p><p>Raya is not forming a gang. Merely an alliance to serve her purposes. She refuses to call anything she creates a gang, otherwise it would diminish what she is trying to do.</p><p>And what she is trying to do is not as noble as people think it is. It seems that she is the only one aware of this.</p><p>Well, her and someone else.</p><p>#</p><p>It takes a week, but it happens in a blink. What was once a one-woman army is now an army of many. Not only that, but this army has grown far past Boun’s little shack; this infection has grown on the other stalls as this team of civilians expands far beyond their borders. It has actually made it difficult for the Fangs to enter the area without being blindsided by some buffoon with a broom or, worse, a meat cleaver.</p><p>Namaari taps her foot then takes to pacing, agitated. Who thought it was a bright idea to allow these wet market peasants to wield knives? They ought to have stones strapped to their feet and thrown in a river.</p><p>Her lieutenant and her women flank her, ready to throw themselves into the fray for her the moment she asks them. Already, they have witnessed her rant and rave at them for being absolute failures and how they would amount to nothing, so they are eager to prove themselves now. It should be easy. The problem is that it’s not, it’s not at all.</p><p>One of her most profitable streets has been hijacked by a bunch of citizens. It very much resembles an uprising and she would be damned if that were to happen on her watch.</p><p>She tried to act sooner. She sent several Fangs into the market, only to have them hobble away, thoroughly beaten. This tick has become a full-blown parasite and it was because Namaari foolishly hesitated.</p><p>No more could she do such a thing. This problem would have to be faced head on.</p><p>She finishes off her cigarette and flicks it aside before smoothing out the imaginary wrinkles in her white blazer and adjusting its cuffs. Everything is calculated, planned, immaculate. She would not have it any other way.</p><p>With that, she marches and her entourage follows in step. They crowd the street in a sea of white, uniformed and armed. Her lieutenant and general walk by either side of her, both equipped with decorative polearms emblematic of the Fangs. This is not so much an invasion so much as a reminder of loyalty. Some markets have remained loyal and continue to pay the Fangs, but they have dwindled into a silent minority.</p><p>The stall in the middle of this conflict is in eyesight. Her gaze remains trained on it until she comes to a stop just in front of the counter. Boun is the first to notice and he squeals in fear before ducking under the counter, as if she would miraculously forget he is there. Namaari curls her lip in disgust.</p><p>“I know you’re there, traitorous rat!” snaps Namaari and slams the counter for good measure. “Stand up and face me!”</p><p>“He’s not the one you want to speak with.”</p><p>Namaari freezes, her body roaring to life when that voice seeps into her ears. It is headier, deeper, but unmistakable.</p><p>“And I think you know that,” adds Raya as she steps forward. Namaari has to stop herself from physically reeling back at the sight of her. She is…</p><p>Namaari cannot find the words to describe her. There are many she would like to use, but all fall short. All she can think of, over and over again, is regret. Pain is just as frequent.</p><p>What she remembers from what feels like a lifetime ago is a gangly, awkward girl with her hair always pulled back into twin braids and her knees chronically scuffed and sloppily bandaged. She was clumsy and awkward, unable to grow into her own body and exhibit the same poise as her parents. A runt, the other kids would call her.</p><p>Looking at her now, Namaari immediately senses the shift. Raya has grown, her form lithe and light. She wears a simple shirt and jeans with the unseemly apron of Boun’s restaurant, but there is no denying that a fighter’s body pulses underneath, coiled and ready to spring into action. As a fellow fighter, Namaari can see the deliberation of her steps, the alertness of her deep, dark eyes.</p><p>Namaari knew. She knew already that Raya was the one being this disruptive because only she would take over a stall in some pitiful protest against the Fangs. Part of Namaari didn’t want to believe it. A small voice in her keeps whispering for this to be a dream, but the radiance of her presence does not leave room for denial.</p><p>It seems they stare at one another for far too long. Namaari’s lieutenant shifts, then nudges her subtly.</p><p>“Boss.”</p><p>Namaari blinks out of her spell and notices for the first time the crowd of civilians that have begun to press in on Namaari’s entourage. The tension registers when she realizes that they are all focused on Namaari herself and her silent exchange with Raya. They are waiting for her to give them a reason.</p><p>This tickles her. She laughs and turns back to Raya, jarred from whatever shock she’d been struck with and firmly reminded of her purpose.</p><p>“You made a big mistake showing your face here,” says Namaari. Raya quirks her eyebrow with a playful smile.</p><p>“And I see you’re still a coward hiding behind your friends,” Raya says. Namaari grits her teeth.</p><p>“Friends?” Namaari says, then barks a laugh that almost tastes of hysteria. “Only the runt of a bleeding heart would think I need friends. These are my <em>subordinates</em>. I’m sure you heard of my most recent promotion to Matriarch of the Fangs.”</p><p>Raya shrugs, coy. “I got pretty well-acquainted with some of them.”</p><p>Namaari’s general releases a low growl and starts to move forward, but Namaari raises a hand to halt her.</p><p>“I didn’t come here to play catch-up, unfortunately,” says Namaari. “Consider this a courtesy call. If you and your merry band don’t clear out of my street, you’ll wish you died along with your fa—”</p><p>A loud smack rings through the market and all is silent. Namaari, head whipped to the side, looks wide-eyed at nothing, the indignance and, pathetically, the shame so strong that she does not respond immediately.</p><p>She hesitates, but her soldiers react on her behalf by surging forward, chains and two-by-fours. Boun screams and tears off along with some other stall workers, but even more citizens, armed with kitchen appliances like woks and pans, converge on Boun’s—no, Raya’s—stall. The Fangs hesitate then.</p><p>Namaari turns to her entourage and yells, voice booming, “None of you fuckers move without my say so!”</p><p>“But Boss—!” Her lieutenant. Namaari grabs her by the front of her shirt and shakes her, firmly.</p><p>“Not without,” she growls, “my say so.”</p><p>The lieutenant, cowed, nods frantically. Namaari roughly lets her go before turning back to Raya who looks just as stunned by her own actions. Namaari swipes a thumb over the side of her mouth and it comes away with a streak of blood.</p><p>“You still have a mean punch,” says Namaari with a humourless laugh. She juts her chin at the stall Raya has made a point of squatting in and adds, “This place’s days are numbered. This is your one and only warning: whatever baggage you have with the Syndicate isn’t worth it. From one old ‘friend’ to another.”</p><p>Raya narrows her eyes, rubbing down the knuckles of the fist used to assault Namaari. Namaari is not fooled; Raya only used half her strength in that punch. Perhaps a lot less than that. She has been training in her absence. It had to be for more than making an absolute nuisance of herself to the local gangs.</p><p>With a final scathing look, Namaari passes by the stall with as determined a stride as she can manage. She had just been struck in front of her subordinates, something that will surely reach the other patriarchs who will have a good laugh at her expense and once again question her mother’s decision to make her matriarch of the Fangs. She might as well walk off with some dignity left.</p><p>Only, Raya has other plans. “Tell Virana I said hi.”</p><p>Namaari almost falters in her step but does little more than that as she marches away. Perhaps for the final time.</p><p>It was good to see her face again. She has grown beautifully. It’s only a shame that she has squandered her life on this squabble because Namaari cannot allow her to live after this insult. She does not make the rules on this one.</p><p>After all, reputation is all a gangster has. A life, even that of an “old friend”, is a small price to pay for it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Namaari's brain: fight or fuck</p><p>Namaari: yes.</p><p>-</p><p>Hope you enjoyed the first chapter! I don't usually push out fanfiction this quickly (or all that often), but I've been itching to write a Yakuza-inspired story starring angry disaster lesbians, so I figured I might as well shoot my shot.</p><p>I'd like to apologize if this story might seem unpolished in some way; I wanted to get this out by time the movie was released which left little time for thorough editing. Please leave feedback if you feel some things could be improved.</p><p>This will be a two-parter. The second part will be released (hopefully) next week.</p><p>Thank you for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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